Lost and then Found
by Gerec
Summary: Erik Lensherr is a detective in the NYPD, happily married for four years to Charles Xavier, Professor of Genetics at Columbia University. At least that's what he thinks when he wakes up in a hospital bed, arm broken and head swathed in bandages, his mother Edie holding his hand. There's a lot that he doesn't remember...plus he's no longer married to the man he loves. Cherik, M/M
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** The O.C.C.B. is short for the Organized Crime Control Bureau. Timelines mentioned might be a bit confusing because Erik is referring to what he remembers and he's missing a good chuck of his memories. For quick reference:

_- It's currently 2014_  
_- Erik remembers it being 2010_  
_- Charles and Erik have known each other for ten years (since 2004)_  
_- They've been divorced for almost a year_

* * *

**Chapter 1 (of 3)**

There's the soothing sound of his mother's voice cutting through the haze, singing a familiar lullaby from his childhood.

And the feel of his hand cradled in her much smaller one, soft and calloused fingers stroking in time to the beat.

He tries to open his eyes and speak, to ask why she's sitting there beside his bed but he's just _so tired_ and _why isn't his body cooperating_ and he finds too soon that he's drifting off again into a dreamless sleep…

"…_should wake up soon, Mrs. Lensherr. His ribs are bruised but thankfully no lung damage. Also his left arm will need to stay in the cast for 6 to 8 weeks while it heals. We won't know anything more…"_

Erik's aware of his surroundings more frequently now; can hear voices and movement around him as he drifts in and out of consciousness. His mother is almost always there, steady as the soft beep of the machines that are his constant companion. Occasionally there are other voices, unknown and clinical as they discuss his vitals and administer treatment to a body that he can't seem to control.

He only remembers hearing Charles once, warm hands brushing his cheek and fervent whispers barely audible as Erik tries desperately to open his eyes.

"…_please wake up. I know…I know things between us are…but Erik, please I need you to wake up…"_

When he finally opens his eyes it's to his mother's wide, relieved smile, too quickly replaced by faces and more faces, all poking and prodding as Erik tries to shake the cobwebs from his brain. There are orders to rest and assurances he'll feel better soon and it's such a relief when they all finally leave and his mother is the only one left in the room.

"Oh my sweet boy," Edie says, eyes glistening as she clutches his hand and places a light kiss on his forehead. "We've been so worried, Erik. You've been in a coma for weeks and the doctors had no idea when you would wake up."

He tries to answer her, but his mouth feels like it's been stuffed with cotton balls and nothing discernable wants to come out. He has to try a couple more times, his mother helping him take a drink of water in between clumsy attempts, before it's finally unglued enough for his words to be heard.

"Ma...ma," he asks, voice raspy and low, "where's Charles?"

* * *

Erik has picked up enough from the doctors talking at him to know he's in the hospital, recuperating from a hit and run accident on his way home from the precinct. That he's bruised and battered with a broken arm but miraculously, not as injured as he could have been considering the state of his car when they pulled him from the wreckage.

What he doesn't know - and the doctors don't say - is why his husband hasn't been notified that Erik is awake. Because he knows Charles and Charles would want to be there with him, the moment he woke up. To fuss over him and lecture Erik about being more careful; that being a cop meant he should always be aware of his surroundings.

The strangest look crosses his mother's face, sad and concerned before she leans forward and plumps the pillow under his head. "Charles has been here every day, Erik. He's been quite worried about you...we all have," she whispers. "I'll call him at the University and let him know how you are. I'm sure he'll be relieved."

"I want…to see him," Erik says, talking a little easier now that his throat doesn't feel like sandpaper. "Why isn't he here?"

Edie smiles but doesn't quite look him in the eye, hands busy with the pillows and blankets she's arranging and rearranging on his bed. "The doctors…well they would only let immediate family in while you were sleeping. I only managed to sneak him in here once with the help of one of the night shift nurses."

Nothing his mother just said makes any sense to Erik. Why would they let her in to see him but not Charles? Why would they have to sneak his _husband_in to see him? Charles would never back down when it came to Erik, no matter what the doctors said. What the hell is going on?

"I don't…understand," he growls, trying not to let his irritation and impatience with the situation and his general helplessness spill over into his words. "I want to…see my husband, Mama. I want Charles. Now."

The smile on Edie's face morphs slowly into a frown, a hand sliding to cup his cheek as she answers, very gently but succinctly, "Charles isn't your husband, Erik. He hasn't been for about a year now."

"What?" He doesn't know what his mother sees in his face but she immediately strokes her hand through his hair, a comforting gesture Erik recognizes only distantly as he tries to digest her words.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Edie asks calmly, after a couple of minutes of stunned silence on his part.

"I don't…I don't know, Mama. Charles and I had breakfast, I made scrambled eggs. Then I left for work and he…he didn't have class until noon. I don't…how? How? How did this happen? _What happened to my life?_"

He is shouting by the end of it, loud enough to bring a slew of doctors and nurses into his room, all clamoring to poke and prod at him some more, asking inane and never-ending questions. There are phrases bandied about - _retrograde amnesia_ and _possible recovery_ – and Erik can only sit and wonder what could possibly have happened for him to lose the man he's been in love with since he was twenty years old.

It's a tough truth to swallow, even coming from his own mother, when he clearly remembers waking up - _just this morning_ - with his arms wrapped around Charles, their legs intertwined beneath the sheets. The way Charles smells of soap and sunshine and Earl Grey tea when Erik presses his nose to the nape of his husband's neck and breathes in, the first thing he does every morning and the last thing he does before he falls asleep at night.

It only truly clicks into place when Charles arrives a few hours later, hovering uncertainly at the door before Edie gets up and takes him by the hand, tugging him inside. His husband - ex-husband he has to remind himself – doesn't look anything like his normal, confident and easy-going self. Charles is strung tighter than a bow-string, eyeing him on the bed with clearly wrought conflict all over his face, uncertain if he should wrap himself around Erik or turn and run out of the room.

His mother guides Charles into her usual seat beside Erik, before murmuring a quick excuse and leaving the two of them alone. They stare at each other for a long time, the soft humming of the machines seeming much louder in the awkward silence.

"How are you feeling?" Charles asks, reaching slowly to take his hand, his touch light and uncertain. "I was…we were all so worried. I'm…" He stops mid-sentence, eyes going wide and wet before taking a deep breath and clenching Erik's hand a bit tighter. "Thank goodness you're awake. You're going to be alright."

Charles squeezes his hand, loosening his grip as if to let go but Erik only twines their fingers together, keeping the other man close. He wants to know so badly what's happened between them; why Charles seems so unsure of his welcome and so tentative with his touch. He has never been either of those things with Erik, in the seven years they've been together.

It takes a few moments, but eventually the hand relaxes in his hold and Erik allows himself to embrace the comfort in that connection, an anchor in a reality that doesn't feel quite real. Charles sighs, a pained smile on his face but he doesn't pull away from Erik, letting him rub his thumb gently over the professor's skin.

"Edie told me what the doctors said. That you have retrograde amnesia. They aren't sure when you'll regain your memories but they think there's a good chance you'll recover most—"

"What did I do?" he interrupts, and Charles' head snaps upwards, gaze tearing away from their joined hands to Erik's face. "What did I do that made you leave me, Charles? I want you to tell me. _I need to know._"

Charles doesn't look at all surprised by Erik's outburst – and why should he? He knows better than anyone that Erik attacks every issue head on with laser focus, letting nothing distract or deter him from getting his answers. It's partly why he's such a good cop and one of the reasons Captain Shaw took a keen interest in his career and became his mentor.

"I don't even know where to begin," Charles says, running his hand absently through his tousled hair. "Why don't you tell me what you remember? What year is it for you? Where do you work? Anything important that comes to mind."

"It's May 2010. We live in a two bedroom condo not too far from Columbia. It has a view of Central Park and would be way out of our price range if not for your hefty inheritance. It was your sister's birthday three weeks ago and we had dinner with her and her new boyfriend Hank. You had seafood linguini and I had the lamb. I work at the  
9th and last week I finally broke the big drug case I've been working on for the past five months."

Charles chuckles, amused and a little rueful. "That's...very specific."

He shrugs and his own answer is tinged with irony. "I've always had a good memory."

The comment pulls a startled laugh from Charles' lips but it's mixed with a lingering sadness that makes his own insides hurt. If not for the bandages and bruises and the left arm in a sling, he would have pulled Charles into his arms by now, awkwardness and divorce be damned.

"Yes, well…it's no wonder you're confused," Charles says quietly, expression sympathetic and kind as he looks into Erik's eyes. "You've lost almost four years' worth of memories. A lot's happened since then."

Erik snorts; because isn't that the understatement of the century. "Yes, I gathered. I woke up this morning with a husband, Charles. I don't know what I could have done in the last four years that's made you stop loving me."

"I didn't…" Charles argues, pinching the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh. "It's not...it's complicated, Erik. It wasn't just your fault that we're not together anymore. We grew apart. Things got pretty bad…and in the end there wasn't much of our marriage left to save."

"Just tell me," he snaps, nerves and patience both wearing thin at Charles' vague assertions. "Tell me everything. All of it. Do you have any idea what it feels like to wake up in a hospital bed with no idea how you got here? And everything you know about your life is no longer true? I need this Charles, tell me the damned truth! Tell me, I can handle it."

For a moment, Erik thinks he's pushed too hard, too fast; Charles' expression shutters, lips pursed with his hand sliding from Erik's grip. It's not his intention to antagonize his ex-husband, and some of his panic must show on his face because Charles just lets out a loud huff of breath before settling back into his armchair.

"Alright, Erik. I guess the best place to start is with your old Captain, Sebastian Shaw."

He can only describe the feeling as surreal, listening to Charles recount the story of their lives these past four years with Erik as the troubled hero. How his mentor transferred to the O.C.C.B. and he followed a few months later, taking on more and more cases with Shaw's support and encouragement. How increasingly long days and late nights became the new norm for them both, as Erik embraced his responsibilities with fierce pride and enthusiasm and Charles wrestled with his course load and his dissertation for a second PhD. Until they were mere strangers and visitors in each other's lives.

Charles relays the information with the detachment of an academic, though it clearly pains him to recall the events. He glosses over much of the details – forgotten dates and all-night stakeouts, lonely meals and a cold bed; details he gets later from Raven, who's happy to disclose his failings as husband to her beloved big brother. The end of their marriage happens over the course and distance of weeks and months, a slow and steady weariness creating a chasm too wide to bridge.

"We never talked about it?" he asks, wondering how either of them could have let their relationship deteriorate beyond repair. "Didn't we try to fix things between us? Did we...when did we stop loving each other, Charles?"

The other man hesitates and the conflict is clear on his face, whether he should protect Erik from the ugly truth or to lay it out plain. "We fought more than we talked, Erik. You were so angry; you didn't think I understood how important your career was to you. Angry that I would even question why we were still together when we barely spent time in the same room. And _I_ was angry – angry that you thought I was making you choose. Angry that if you did choose that I would _lose_."

Erik doesn't _feel_ any of the emotions Charles describes, disconnected as he is from the events that have so dramatically changed their lives. He wants to be furious at them both for laying waste to their four year marriage but can muster nothing but a bone-deep ache at the bitter loss.

"You let Shaw push you," Charles continues, his voice hoarse and strained. "He pretended to look out for you while he took credit for all your hard work and still you didn't stop. It was like you were obsessed; that every criminal you arrested would get you a little bit closer to avenging your father's death."

A death that haunts Erik for its senselessness and brutality; the shooting of an innocent man caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"I asked Edie not to get involved but you know your mother does as she pleases, Erik. Though it didn't make a difference really. Things were…broken between us and there wasn't anything anyone could do to fix it."

"How long?" he asks and Charles looks up distractedly, shaken from his memories by Erik's voice. "How long have we been separated?"

"Our divorce was finalized almost a year ago. A year next month actually," Charles answers with a sad smile.

"And are we still friends at least? Tell me we haven't lost each other completely."

Charles shakes his head, thumb hurrying to brush the lone tear sliding down his cheek. "No Erik, we're not. This is the first we've seen or spoken to each other in over six months."

"No," Erik says, because his mind can't wrap itself around Charles' revelation; _can't_ comprehend not having Charles Xavier there every day of his life. Nothing and no one (except his mother) is as important as Charles and hasn't been since the first night they met; not since Erik bumped into the Genetics student on his way back from the bar, spilling half his beer all over both their shirts. Not since Erik apologized profusely to the cute brunette with the brilliant smile and sparkling blue eyes and Charles gave Erik his number with a wink, insisting they go out for coffee the next day after classes.

He remembers that first meeting – their first date really – as clear as though it happened yesterday. Charles came into the cafe from the blistering November cold, hair windblown and ridiculously attractive, sporting fingerless gloves and a dark blue scarf around his neck. Erik had felt the jolt of desire like a punch in the gut, the delicious pull from the night before solidifying over the course of unhurried hours into a tension so palpable he found it difficult to think straight. Coffee turned into dinner and then an invitation to Charles' place, whispered against his lips as Erik lost himself completely to the taste of Charles' sinful mouth.

Erik let his head fall back against the pillow, a great heaving breath escaping his chest. "No. This is unacceptable. You can't expect me to just...sit here while you tell me it's over! I _refuse_ to believe it! We would never let things end like that! Never!" He glares at his ex-husband, who looks a bit lost at his outburst. "You filed for the divorce, didn't you? What did you do? How did you get me to agree to it?"

Charles frowns, eyes narrowing at the accusations. "Yes, I was the one who filed for divorce," the other man snaps and in the back of his mind, Erik knows he's being unfair - he just can't do anything to stop himself, mired as he is in anger and despair. "Because I refused to be married to a stranger anymore Erik and that's what we were! And I didn't _do_ anything to make you agree! You never once asked me to reconsider, nor did you contest the divorce. You signed those papers willingly. All on your own."

At least he still knows Charles well enough to anticipate what happens next, Erik reaching to grab Charles' hand before the professor can get up and out of the armchair. "Please," Erik begs, feeling desperate and off-kilter, "I'm sorry. Look I'm just a bit overwhelmed. Please don't go."

With a sigh and a glare that's both fond and irritated, Charles settles back into his seat and the two men sit in silence as Erik tries to absorb everything he's been told. He tries to imagine the bitterness and the hurt he must have felt when he got served with divorce papers, no matter the state of their marriage at the time. Can imagine his own pride and stubbornness the reasons he didn't ask Charles to reconsider, if he thought his husband was ready to walk away.

"We can try again," he says, placing a kiss on the back of Charles' hand and holding it against his chest. "We can fix things…we'll make better choices this time. I love you Charles and I can't imagine I ever stopped, no matter what happened between us. We'll consider this a chance to wipe the slate clean and start over." Erik chuckles and points to the bandages wrapped around his head, giving Charles a wry grin. "See I'm already there."

Whatever he might have expected the reaction to be – happiness, anger, ridicule – it isn't _this_, Charles lurching to his feet and pulling away, grabbing his jacket and backing slowly towards the door. Erik stares in shock as the professor struggles into his jacket, muttering curses under his breath before spinning around to face him.

"I'm sorry Erik but I can't," Charles says, words just above a whisper. "It was devastating. It's taken so long for me to move on and I just can't…"

"Charles, please…"

"No, you have to listen to me, Erik." And this time, Charles voice is firm and unwavering. "The doctors believe you have an excellent chance of recovering your memories and when you do, things will go back to the way they were before your accident. I can't let you drag us both through a reconciliation, just to break up again in the end. I'm sorry."

"How can you be sure?" Erik growls, because he's not going to let Charles walk away from him again without a fight. "How do you know for sure what will happen? Maybe it won't matter if I get my memories back. Maybe I'll only care that we're together again and fuck everything else, Charles because I love you dammit!"

"I know because I _know_ you Erik! I've known you for ten years and having amnesia doesn't change who you are!"

"I don't care! I don't care what's happened Charles! There's nothing that could possibly make me—"

"I slept with your partner!" Charles shouts and the admission stuns them both into an abrupt silence. The words that follow are much softer and a bit sorrowful. "I was drunk and it just…happened. We'd been divorced for months and I guess I just thought…I didn't think—"

"Didn't think I'd find out?" Erik asks, bile lodged in his throat at the thought of someone else – someone he _trusted_ - touching his husband.

"Didn't think you'd care," Charles answers bitterly, before turning and walking out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 (of 3)**

* * *

_"I slept with your partner!"_

The words ring over and over again in his ears, a revelation meant to devastate and wound, squashing any attempt at reconciliation.

Charles is hurt and scared and lashing out, pushing Erik away to protect himself using harsh and irrefutable truth. He knows this, because Erik knows _Charles_, and because he might have done the same thing if he were in his ex-husband's shoes. Though knowing and understanding doesn't make the betrayal – perceived if not actual fact - any easier to take.

He refuses to talk about it when his mother returns to the room, closing his eyes so she can't see that they're red and swollen, frustration deep and clawing in the pit of his stomach. It takes him an entire day before he can speak to her again without his throat threatening to close up. Another before he can pick up the phone to call Charles.

Charles doesn't answer. And he doesn't return Erik's call.

Erik leaves another message. Then another. Sends him text after text after text.

Nothing.

By the third day he's going half mad, still bed-ridden and 'under observation' by the doctors and getting absolutely nowhere in his attempts to reach Charles. He can't even muster a smile when his mother arrives after lunch with a Tupperware container of rugelach and a pastrami on rye from Erik's favorite kosher deli.

"You didn't have to go out of your way to bring me lunch Mama," he says, taking the sandwich from Edie's hand with a sigh. "I don't want you to tire yourself out looking after me."

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I'm going to take care of you! I'm your mother!" Edie hands him a bottled water, watching with an affectionate smile as he unwraps the sandwich and takes a large bite, groaning with satisfaction. "Plus I didn't go out of my way. Charles brought it with him when we met for lunch. He asked me to bring it to you."

Erik almost chokes on his food, swallowing a mouthful of pastrami before blurting out, "You saw Charles? What did he say? Why isn't he returning my calls?"

"Yes, we met for lunch today; we try to get together at least every other week when he's not too busy with his students." Edie reaches for the bottled water and uncaps it, handing it to Erik who quickly takes a long drink. "He said you'd be tired of the hospital food. And that you were probably craving a pastrami sandwich. So he asked me to bring this to you. It has extra pickles."

The consideration and care from Charles isn't a complete shock - he's always been the more thoughtful one in the relationship – but he's also sending a rather painfully conflicting message to Erik, when he so purposely refuses to see or even speak to him. "Why didn't he bring it himself?" he asks, trying very hard not to let impatience and despair color his words. "Why won't he talk to me?"

Edie runs her slender fingers through hair that's not covered in bandages, an attempt to soothe the obvious ache in her son's heart. "Give him a little time Erik, to come to terms with everything that's happened. He went from almost losing an ex-husband he's not on speaking terms with, to having the same man tell him everything that's happened these last few years doesn't matter. Charles loves you and he wants to help you…he just doesn't want you two to hurt each other again."

"What should I do, Mama?" Erik whispers, wrapping his arms around Edie's waist as she hugs him close. "I don't know how to live without Charles. I don't know what to do."

"Be patient and have faith, as I do, that things will work out. You and Charles may have given up on your marriage but I never have. You'll find your way back to each other again, I know it."

* * *

His mother's assurances do much to buoy Erik's spirits over the next few days, as Charles continues to stonewall him and the doctors barrage him with another round of tests. His friends and colleagues old and new also prove a most welcome distraction, though they come armed with things they all know will annoy him; balloons and flowers and oversized get-well cards.

Erik is pleased to see Darwin and Alex from his days at the 9th, the partners showing up late one night with wings and beer they smuggled past the hospital staff using Darwin's charm and Alex's boyish good looks. They touch briefly on his amnesia but thankfully don't ask too many questions and stay just long enough to share a laugh about the 'good old days' and wish him well.

He gets visitors too from the O.C.C.B., colleagues he's supposedly known for three years but doesn't remember ever meeting. Ororo Munroe is warm and boisterous with a slightly obnoxious sense of humor, ignoring Erik's vehement protests and dropping a giant teddy bear/perp in sunglasses and a trench coat on his lap. Her partner Emma Frost he finds, is much like Erik - a sharp eye with an even sharper tongue, watching the proceedings with a smirk and delivering an occasional one-liner at his expense.

Sebastian Shaw pays him a visit one Thursday afternoon, looking stylish and relaxed as ever in an expensive dark grey suit.

"Erik, my boy," Shaw says with a wide grin, "I see you're doing much better! Good to see you awake and on the mend."

"Thank you, Captain," Erik answers, finding it reassuring to see his mentor again, a consistent and influential presence in his life for so many years. "I just wish the doctors would discharge me already and let me out of here."

Shaw shakes his head and chuckles, leaning forward slightly in the armchair as he answers, "Always so impatient Erik. Focus on getting well and you'll be back to work in no time."

"I don't know…between the arm and the therapy for my memory loss I have no idea how long it's going to take. I just want to get back to work as soon as possible."

"Really?" Shaw asks, blue eyes accessing Erik with a penetrating gaze. "Don't you want some time off to try and get your memories back?"

They had all asked him the same question – the doctors, his mother and Alex; all three had been surprised by his indifference. "_Can the therapy guarantee that my memory will return?"_ he'd asked and the doctors told him no. _"Will remembering the end of my marriage make the divorce easier to handle?"_ he'd asked and his mother smiled sadly and shook her head. _"Can I still be a good cop if I can't remember where my desk is?"_ he'd asked and Alex had laughed and patted him on the back.

"I feel out of control Sebastian," he answers, rubbing his eyes tiredly as the Captain watches, "I hate feeling so disconnected and out of sync with my own life. I need to do something _normal…_get back into a routine maybeand not waste time on memories that will either come back or not on their own."

"In that case," Shaw exclaims, patting Erik's knee good-naturedly, voice dripping with satisfaction. "I'll do everything I can to help you. It's the least I can do for my best detective."

* * *

Moira MacTaggert arrives just before dinner the following day, toting take-out from the greasy diner down the street from their precinct. The glorious smell of the cheeseburger sets his stomach rumbling, but seeing his partner again is more than enough to obliterate Erik's appetite.

"Eat it while it's hot," Moira says, dropping her purse on the ground with a grunt and flopping into the chair next to Erik's bed. "I tipped the cabbie extra to get me here in less than ten minutes."

It shouldn't have been such a surprise he muses, as Moira shoves the bag into his hands, that Charles would find comfort in her arms after their split. She and Erik have always worked well together, their years together as partners making her one of the few people he values and trusts with his life. That she became best friends with Charles was something Erik welcomed once upon a time; had in fact teased Charles that his compatibility with Moira made her more ideally suited to him than Erik.

The irony is not lost on him now.

"What…why aren't you eating?" Moira asks, frowning as he sits there with his fists clenched around the take-out bag. "What's wrong, Lensherr? Look if you're mad that I didn't come sooner you should know I've been undercover these past three weeks and I only found out about your accident this morning."

"You've got a lot of nerve showing up here, MacTaggert, acting like everything's okay," he growls. "Like you didn't stab me in the back by sleeping with my husband! I don't care if Charles and I are divorced, you're supposed to be my friend! My _partner_! I trusted you, how could you—"

"Woah, whoa, whoa, hold on! I never slept with Charles!" Moira objects, throwing both hands in the air to ward off the accusations. "Where did you get the ridiculous idea that I slept with Charles?"

Erik can't help but shout, livid that she would try to lie when he'd heard the words straight from his ex's mouth. "_He_ told me! That he was _drunk_ and it just_ happened_ and-"

"God you idiot he wasn't talking about _me_—"

"He said my _partner_-"

"—he was talking about your _other_ partner! Howlett! At the O.C.C.B!"

"Who?"

The name only sounds vaguely familiar, Erik having no recollection at all of his time in the force after leaving the 9th. He must look suitably bewildered because Moira seems to take pity on him, pinched brow smoothing over and expression softening as she answers, "Detective James Howlett. Logan, as he likes to be called. You told me you guys were at the Academy around the same time. He was assigned to you after you joined the O.C.C.B. I think you two were pretty close."

"Apparently not _that _close," he snarls, ripping the bag open and crumpling it into a ball, whipping it across the room and into the garbage can, "if he fucked my husband, MacTaggert. Sorry, _ex_-husband."

Moira has the good sense not to respond, smart enough to know that he needs to vent and generous enough to allow it directed her way. He's aware that he should apologize for his accusation, but is frankly too wired and pissed off to form the right words.

"Look Erik," she says with a sigh, "I know you hate it when you think you're being pitied so I won't say that I'm sorry you got hurt and that you lost four years of your life. Or how tough it must be to wake up and suddenly find yourself divorced with no clue how it happened. I'm just glad you're still in one piece considering your car was a complete and utter wreck."

"How did you-" He shakes his head. "You talked to Charles."

His old partner grins, a slight tilt of her head that he finds both annoying and reassuringly familiar. "That...and I work for the CIA now."

"What the hell, MacTaggert? The CIA?"

And so Moira fills in more of the gaps, giving Erik details of the last few years from her perspective as he inhales the cheeseburger in hand. Her recruitment to the CIA happened soon after his departure from the 9th, though they stayed close for some time afterwards, Moira a fixture at the Xavier-Lensherr household until both Erik's and Charles' schedules became too busy for even an occasional drink with their group of friends. Erik eventually disappeared from their lives completely, too focused on his cases to notice how unhappy and lonely his husband had become.

"You and I weren't really talking much, when things started going downhill between you and Charles," Moira says. "So I really only have his side of the story. He didn't want to give up on your marriage, Erik, even when everyone else was telling him it was over. I think he was at the end of his rope and he filed for divorce as a last ditch-effort to get you to fight for the marriage. I don't think he really expected you to sign the papers."

"You're telling me I just gave up? Just like that?" Because he can't possibly hope to understand his own actions; how he could have changed so much that he wouldn't fight the entire universe to have Charles by his side.

Moira reaches to pat his hand, voice carefully neutral in reply, "I can't answer that I'm sorry, Erik. Charles is the only one that can give you the answers you need."

He scoffs, the sting of rejection still fresh in his mind. "He won't return my calls and he refuses to see me. I don't know—" A thought occurs to Erik mid-sentence, almost too cruel to contemplate. "Are they together? Charles and Logan?"

"What? You mean dating? No." Moira answers, shaking her head for emphasis. "That was a one-time thing and as far as I know, Charles feels pretty bad that it happened-"

"He should," Erik mutters.

"—and if it makes you feel better, when you found out about it, you punched Logan in the face and gave him a black eye."

He laughs, because what else can he do? He can't feel satisfaction from a confrontation he doesn't recall having, can only feel hurt and resentment towards Charles for doing something the man had every right to do. "Do you think I'd feel better if I punched him again?"

"If that's what you need, Lensherr," she says with a sly grin, eyes crinkling the way it always does when she's plotting. "I can make it happen."

* * *

The doctors discharge him a couple of weeks after Moira's visit, his arm still in a cast but healing well along with the rest of his injuries. He's waiting impatiently for the paperwork to be filled out, restless and irritable, desperate to breathe something other than the stale hospital air when he's startled by a familiar voice at the door.

"Hello, Erik."

He hasn't seen or heard from Charles in what feels like _forever_ and the mad crush of everything he's feeling when Erik sees him – relief, joy, heartache, anger, hurt, disappointment – is enough toknock the breath right out of his lungs. It's all a giant convoluted mess, mixed in with that sense of sweet, ceaseless yearning he's felt for Charles since almost the moment they met.

It's also enough of a surprise to stun him into silence, which only serves to make Charles fidget uncomfortably for a moment before walking into the room and standing in front of Erik. He's close enough to touch; close enough to smell the light woodsy cologne so distinctively 'Charles', a gift Erik bought his then-boyfriend to celebrate their first three months together.

"What are you doing here?"

Charles all but flinches, straightening himself up to his full height, the soft look on his face morphing into something still polite but much more distant. It makes Erik want to kick himself for the terse greeting, wishing he'd been able to hide the lingering feelings of hurt and resentment from his ex's revelation and radio silence these past few weeks.

"I'm sorry look…I mean—" He sighs, wrapping his good arm around Charles and pulling him into a hug. "It's good to see you."

The embrace is awkward at first, Charles' body stiff and cautious, before he relaxes and returns the hug, folding his own arms around Erik. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have ignored your calls, it's just…I just needed some time."

"It's alright," he murmurs into the soft wavy hair, lips pressing a whisper light kiss on the top of Charles' head. "I'm just glad you came back."

"Edie told me that you're being discharged today," Charles says, the words slightly muffled against Erik's chest. "I thought I would come and give her a hand. Help you get home and get settled."

He snorts and Charles looks up, pulling away slowly, only for Erik to tighten his hold around the other man and say, "I don't even know where home is."

The arms around his back squeeze for just a moment, and then Charles is pulling back and straightening his jacket, lips pursed in a frown that Erik wants to chase away with a kiss.

"Home is…home. I was the one that moved out," Charles says, turning away to grab Erik's bag off the bed. "Is this everything then? Should I take a look around? Make sure you didn't forget anything important like an iPad or—"

"Charles, please I think we should-"

"It's good that you didn't move after the divorce," Charles interjects, eyes ostensibly searching the room for stray objects while he studiously avoids looking at Erik. "It could be worse couldn't it? If you had to go back now to a place you didn't recognize?"

Erik's not sure it _isn't_ worse actually, going home – to _their_ home – when Charles no longer lives there, a glaring reminder of who and what he no longer has in his life. He's about to say just that when his mother pops her head in the door, interrupting his train of thought with a brilliant smile.

"Ready to go, boys?"

* * *

At first glance the condo looks exactly the same; clean and modern with sleek stainless steel appliances, plush leather furnishings and giant floor-to-ceiling windows with a panoramic view of Central Park. Everything is elegant and immaculate, though polished and sterile in a way he doesn't recall - like a boutique hotel in its clinical perfection.

Edie leaves them alone after only a few minutes, citing missing ingredients she needs to pick up for a special welcome home dinner. Charles looks a little pained as she leaves, then proceeds to avoid Erik's gaze again as he putters around the open kitchen, grinding beans and pouring water into a fancy coffee maker he doesn't recognize.

He lets his eyes wander around the living room, trying to reconcile the home he knows with the space that currently surrounds him. Incongruities abound – there are pictures missing from the mantle over the fireplace, one of Charles and Erik taken on their wedding day and another from their trip to Aspen, Erik covered in snow and missing a ski, being helped off the ground by a laughing Charles.

A painting is missing from the wall, a gift from Raven's first collection holding pride of place amidst a few of the less ostentatious art pieces from the Xavier estate.

The clutter of books and papers, red pens and empty tea cups that used to litter every counter and table top – gone.

His favorite grey blanket is no longer draped over the couch, the one that was warm and fuzzy and smelled like Charles; the one they cuddled under on cold winter days, watching the snow blanket the world outside.

Erik uncovers dozens of these little details as he walks from room to room, a numbness settling in as he finds more and more empty gaps where his husband used to be. There's only one toothbrush in the bathroom and none of the apple scented shampoo. His walk-in closet is half empty, bare of his ex's suits and cardigans and Erik's favorite blue shirts that match Charles' eyes.

It hits him hardest when he finds the empty office, the room devoid of everything now but a single bookshelf half full with Erik's own small collection. The entirety of Charles' presence that used to fill this room with barely controlled chaos is gone, a glaring hole in what's left of Erik's life.

"Coffee's ready," Charles says from the doorway but Erik doesn't turn around, doesn't want the other man to know that he can't quite see through the thin veil of tears threatening to overwhelm him.

Walking a little farther in, Erik stops and leans against the wall, staring out the window at the bustling sidewalk below. "Where do you live now?" he asks, throat swollen and sore.

"I live with Raven," Charles answers quietly, stepping inside the room but staying propped against the opposite wall, sensing the need for Erik to have some space. "She had lots of room at her place. And she spends quite a bit of time at Hank's anyway so she always has a place to go when she gets sick of me."

The last part of the sentence is said with a hint of sarcasm, though Erik knows him well enough to hear the trace of melancholy in those words. "That's good," he replies, "I'm glad you two are getting along so well."

He gets a wry chuckle from Charles, followed by a soft sigh. "Yes, I'm…it turns out I'm not very good at being alone. So it's been wonderful having Raven around to keep me sane."

Erik swallows hard and then turns to face Charles, determined to ask even if it feels like he's being stabbed through the heart. "Is that why you slept with Logan? Because you were lonely?"

"Erik, I don't think—"

"Please…I need to know."

Charles bites his lip, no doubt warring internally on how to answer Erik's question. "Partly, maybe. I know I didn't set out to do it. We bumped into each other at the bar that night and I was already quite drunk. I asked him to keep me company and he did. And then he helped me get a cab home…I asked him to come over.

"It still hurt _so much_," Charles explains, taking a deep and shuddering breath, "and I just wanted not to _feel_ for a little while. And a part of me knew that sleeping with Logan would hurt you…and that's what I wanted. I wanted to hurt you the way you hurt me."

The silence hangs heavy between them, broken only when Erik takes a step closer and demands, "When did this happen?"

"Six months ago."

The realization kicks in after a few moments, as Erik pieces together bits of their previous conversation before he blurts out, "Six months—is that why we haven't spoken in six months? Because I found out about Logan?"

Charles looks up and meets Erik's gaze, his expression unreadable. "You didn't find out, Erik. I told you."

"Why?" he snaps, taking another step closer with fists clenched, "why would you do that? To rub it in my face? Do you really hate me so much you would…you would…"

"No," Charles yells, pushing himself off the wall and into Erik's space until the two are standing toe to toe. "Because I couldn't let you go! I kept hoping we would find a way to work things out even after the divorce and it was _stupid_ and _pointless_ and I needed it to end! When I told you, you made it clear you were done with me. And that's what I needed to hear to move on."

An entire minute rolls by, the two men glaring at each other until Erik squeezes his eyes shut and exhales with a ragged sigh. "I think I might hate you right now, just a little," Erik whispers, hands shaking as Charles stares at him with a wretched expression on his face. "I also _know_ that I never stopped loving you, despite everything that happened."

A mirthless chuckle erupts, raw and wounded from Charles' lips. "I could take you hating me better than feeling nothing from you at all."

"Is that what happened?" Erik asks, disbelieving, reaching involuntarily to cup Charles' face in his hand. "Did I really stop…I stopped loving you?" Because the notion is inconceivable, that he could have ever stopped caring about Charles, who he promised in front of all their family and friends to cherish and love for the rest of their lives.

"Maybe. I don't know," Charles answers, his gaze soft and vulnerable as he leans unconsciously into Erik's touch. "It doesn't matter because it takes more than love for a marriage to work. We stopped putting each other first and we couldn't find a way to compromise. So…here we are."

"Yes, here we are," he agrees, thumb stroking warm skin as Erik wraps his fingers gently around the nape of Charles' neck, pulling him close. "Here we are," he murmurs, leaning in and parting Charles' lips with a slow, tentative kiss.

It isn't until this very second, with Charles in his arms, groaning softly as Erik deepens the kiss that he finally feels whole again; that's he only waking up_ now_ after weeks of wandering in a haze of confusion and heartache. It's clear that whatever the state of their relationship and their marriage, Erik wants nothing more than to make things right with Charles.

"I want you," he says, biting down just enough on Charles' bottom lip to make him moan and push harder against Erik. "God I want you, so much. I've missed you," he chants, words of endearment falling from his lips as he presses Charles against the wall, wrapping himself around the compact body with barely restrained longing. "I'm never letting you go again."

Charles makes a choking sound and Erik stops, only to be yanked back down for a rough devouring kiss that leaves them both hard and panting for breath. He wants to do everything at once – to touch bare skin and slide his hands over toned muscles. To lick Charles from his balls to the tip of his shaft, swallowing him down whole. To fuck him against the wall until he comes from nothing but the feel of Erik's cock slamming inside of him.

He doesn't hear the key in the door, doesn't understand why Charles is shoving him away and straightening his shirt until he hears his mother call for them from the kitchen. Erik is still standing there, his hair mussed and lips swollen when Charles tries to push past him a few moments later, face grim and determined.

"Wait a sec…where are you going?"

"I can't do this," he hisses, and Erik is too stunned to do anything but stare. "We can't…no, this doesn't solve anything alright? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let it get this far. It's not fair to you and it's not fair to me either."

"What are you talking about?"

"I get it. To you, we're still together. You don't understand why we – why _I_ - can't just pretend it was all a bad dream and start over. But it's not that easy for me, Erik. Too much has happened! And falling into bed with you right now would be a big mistake for both of us."

"Charles," he begs, "please don't go." But the words are barely out of his mouth before his ex-husband is walking away again, no way for Erik to know if he's doing it for the last time.


End file.
